


Mornings

by psychedelia



Category: Marvel, Moon Knight (Comics)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Earth-65, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-18 01:24:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18975955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychedelia/pseuds/psychedelia
Summary: Marc shaves Bullseye's head. It's cute, alright? It's just cute.





	Mornings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kokopellifacetattoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kokopellifacetattoo/gifts).



Bullseye doesn’t know how long he’s been in the bathroom, stuck, breathing heavy, in his head, poised over the sink and looking into the mirror, razor sitting in the basin by the drain, when Marc comes in. He looks all sorts of concerned and Bullseye wants to ask what’s wrong? But it’s obvious that it’s him that’s wrong and if he asks it makes it real and he’d have to admit that he’s been stuck, couldn’t cut his hair off, something malfunctioned, no bats in the belfry to speak of for god knows how long, and he just can’t.

But Marc knows him, and doesn’t even ask, just comes up behind him and rests his head on top of Bullseye’s head and looks at him through the mirror. 

Bullseye’s head is full of shadowy monsters, real and imaginary, memories and visions and omens and half-truths and lies, all wound together in a tight ball that he can’t possibly hope to unwind right now.

Marc’s bathroom isn’t nice but it’s not not nice either. Generic stuff from Ikea and Target and last-minute Walgreens runs. There is a hand towel that has a higher thread count than his own sheets, but Bullseye’s pretty sure it’s ‘cause he took it from Stephen’s place. Not like Marc has enough awareness of his own belongings to know the difference. 

But he’s aware now and he sees the clippers in the sink and the way Bullseye’s hair is getting long enough to fall onto his forehead, touch the back of his neck, to get what’s going on. “I can do it for you,” He says, and Bullseye wants to sag in relief. 

Does sag in relief, if the way Marc kind of trips from his balanced position behind Bullseye is any indication. Bullseye’s fingers are white-knuckled on the porcelain, but Marc’s voice helps to unwind the spell a little and he slowly lets go, tensing and untensing his fingers to unstiffen them. 

“…Okay,” He says simply, and Marc knows that it’s an invitation.

Marc steps around him and grabs the razor, flapping an aimless hand towards the toilet seat. “Siddown.” His voice isn’t too strong today, kinda mumbly, but Bullseye won’t fault him for it. It’s not like he’s too verbal either. But–

“You’ll get hair everywhere, should be th’sink.” He sits, though, where Marc gestured.

“I can sweep, you know. This’ll make it easier.” 

Bullseye knows Marc will forget and he probably won’t sweep, but he’ll probably get freaked out later and then he’ll scrub the whole bathroom from top to bottom and refuse to let Marc help and make Marc sit on the couch and watch a movie or play video games or something. Not quite as penance, but not not penance, either. He doesn’t mind cleaning. Never has. Gives him something to do with his hands, and it’s not like he gets to fix messes very often. Usually he’s making them. Nice change of pace to fix them. 

They’d woken up early. Well, Bullseye had woken up early, like he usually does. Once he’s awake, he’s awake and he’d known he needed to cut his hair the moment his eyes were open. It happened like that sometimes. Compulsions that popped into his head and wouldn’t leave until he fulfilled them. So he’d gotten up and made coffee and poured himself a mug and went to the bathroom to get ready and– 

“What time is it?” 

Marc shrugs and comes to stand over him. “Like 11. Woke up a few minutes ago.” 

If Bullseye tended to be an early riser, Marc was the opposite, staying in bed for as long as he could possibly stand. Half the time, Bullseye had to drag him off the mattress or find… Other ways… to wake him up, otherwise he would feasibly stay in bed ‘till 1 or 2 in the afternoon and still  want to take a nap in the evening.

And really, considering how often Marc really was awake– or rather, their body– it made sense that he’d sleep a lot, but it was still strange to wake up at 6:30 some days and have to wait almost six hours for his boyfriend to get up.

“How long you been in here?” He asks, and turns the razor on. Bullseye had been letting his hair go longer in between buzzes, lately, looking like an actual proper blond some days, but once it started to touch his forehead or neck, it was all over. 

“Uh– Dunno. Think I got up at, like, eight.” But it’s a lie; he’d gotten up out of bed at 7:30, woke up at 7:00, and he’s been in the bathroom since 7:50. He knows this, even without looking at a clock. Funny how it works sometimes.

“Mm. Could always shout for me.” Marc says, and makes the first pass over his head, and Bullseye watches as hair falls like snow in front of his eyes. 

“…Didn’t realize how long it’d been,” He mumbles, and gets an understanding nod in return. If anyone understood the wonderful world of dissociating and going into your head for hours at a time on accident, it was Marc.

Marc makes another pass over his head, and already, Bullseye’s feeling better, feeling freer, cleaner, like there’s less weight on his shoulders. Having very little hair just meant that much less upkeep he had to do on his body.

On the third pass over his scalp, Bullseye realizes part of the reason Marc’s so mumbly this morning is that he’s got an unlit cigarette in his mouth. Probably was planning on getting up, taking a piss, and then smoking on the roof by way of the window next to the bed. But it’s not a nice apartment anyways, and what’s one cigarette gonna do, so Bullseye leans forward and fishes the lighter he knows will be in Marc’s sweatpants and offers to light it for him while he works. 

The look in Marc’s eyes is such a tender, sweet thing that Bullseye almost looks away. But he doesn’t, because Marc doesn’t look people in the eyes all that often, and he wants to savor it. Maintains his gaze the entire time he’s lighting it and then plops the lighter back in Marc’s sweatpants and they both laugh.

Marc finishes up quickly and Bullseye steals the cigarette from him a few times while he’s cleaning Bullseye up, just passing it back and forth in the small bathroom until Marc stubs the butt out in the sink and lets it rest there. Another thing he’ll forget to clean up and Bullseye will instead, but he doesn’t mind. 

There’s a way in which they both pick up where the other leaves off, these half-thoughts and half-actions being finished and followed through by the other. They fit together, and it’s scary and terrifying and sometimes Bullseye wasn’t to tear his eyes out trying to figure it all out, but somehow Marc doesn’t make him feel really scared and never makes him feel paranoid and that’s more than he can say about anyone else. 

He runs his hands over his head and steps into the mirror and smiles, satisfied, and Marc leans down to kiss the top of his head, resting his lips there. He says, muffled against Bullseye’s scalp, “All done. Breakfast?” And for a the time being, Bullseye forgets that he got stuck, forgets about all the stuff that put him inside his head earlier, just thinks about Marc, and breakfast. He nods.

**Author's Note:**

> For Tumblr user pissdevil. Im sekwoja. Check us out bro 🤙


End file.
